


piece by piece; a puzzle put together

by moon__goddess



Category: GOT7, JJ Project
Genre: GOT7_TAROT_19, Lots of talking about death, M/M, and the other brings them to hell, be warned it's confusing~, but one brings souls to heaven, guess which is which ehehehehe, i just wrote it i didn't really dive into lore, its a combination of a bunch of myths and heaven/hell descriptions ok, seriously they're basically reapers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-28 11:41:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20063434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moon__goddess/pseuds/moon__goddess
Summary: Heaven and hell, black and white, darkness and light.Opposite forces held in restraint, never meant to meet.Two souls, equally bound in chains - and to each other.written forGOT7 Tarot Fic Fest Round 1





	piece by piece; a puzzle put together

**Author's Note:**

> card: the devil || position: reversed || significance: freedom, release, restoring control

He appears in a flash of white, the light blinding to any human around to witness it.

The woman he’s assigned to coughs, her arms bleeding from where the broken glass of her car windshield sliced through them. “Are you an angel?” she gasps, her voice sounding younger than she looks.

He ignores the question. It’s always that question at first. Then comes - “Am I dead?”

That one, he’s allowed to answer. “Yes,” he says, his voice gravelly from lack of use.

The woman looks around, taking in their surroundings. She chokes when she sees the remains of a car underneath a tree, a broken bicycle caught in the front bumper, and when her eyes drift to the body lying unmoving in the road, she screams, hands rising to cover her mouth.

Or at least, they attempt to rise, but chains are already wrapping around her wrists and ankles, binding her limbs together. “W - wh - what,” she mumbles, tongue thick, “what’s happening?”

She looks up at him right as he feels the tug on his own chain. He’s being called back, and he needs to bring her with him.

He lets his eyes burn red as he meets her gaze. “Let’s go,” he says roughly.

“Devil!” she shrieks, writhing in her chains. “Let me go!”

He grins, revealing his pointed canines. “I will when we get there.”

He reaches into his pocket for his controller to open the portal, but right before he hits the switch, he feels the soft whoosh of a black night from behind him.

“Shit,” he curses, fumbling to press the button, whirling to grab the woman and vanish back into the harsh white light.

Someone appears from the night just as he fades, and he freezes with shock as their eyes meet and his enslaved soul roars.

The last thing he sees before the whiteness envelops him is kind, beautiful brown irises.

//

His wings twitch as the man in white disappears, taking his gorgeously deep brown eyes and the swooping feeling in his stomach with him.

The woman he’s assigned to coughs and tries to sit up, but her broken ribs prevent her from doing so, and she cries out in pain.

“Here,” he says gently, stepping to her side and softly helping her rise. “Your pain will be over soon,” he adds, letting his touch on her shoulder spread relief through her body.

She sags in his arms as her bones knit back together, and then she looks, really _ looks _, at him and stumbles back, her eyes wild. “D-devil,” she says, voice shaking as she holds her hands out in front of her.

He shakes his head no.

“But…” She glances down at herself and then at the road, and he can pinpoint exactly when she realizes what has happened, because her eyes widen and her hands come up to cover her mouth. “Am… am I dead?” she asks.

He nods. “I am here to guide you.”

“Guide me?”

“Through your choice, if you wish.” He smiles briefly. “You can choose to pass on, and rejoin your ancestors, or you can choose to remain as a spirit, or you can choose to be reborn. Be warned that your choice, once you make it, is final.”

She closes her eyes, letting her eyelashes flutter against her cheekbones. “I was young,” she says quietly, after a moment of silence has passed. “I want to… to know if my family will be okay.”

“They will mourn,” he explains, “as will your friends, and your lover. But they are strong, as are you. I know this.”

She exhales, and her shoulders square. “I was young,” she repeats. “I would like to try and live again.”

He tilts his head and examines her. “You have chosen to continue the cycle,” he says, and removes his hands from his pockets. “Take my hand, and you will be reborn.”

“Thank you, kind angel,” she says, offering him a tiny smile as she places her hand in his.

He smiles gently back and lets the night flare around them, fading into oblivion as he sends her soul back to the realm of the living, the depth of those eyes from before following him.

//

The brown eyes of the other haunt his dreams, if one can call what he does when he rests dreaming. Their softness haunts him when he’s awake too, always during a punishment, their afterimage imposed in his brain as he sends soul after soul to the fires as he’s told to do. They’re all he can see in the darkness as he measures sins and records the amounts present.

With the image of the other’s eyes comes an itch in his chest, a voice in his head that he thought he’d silenced eons ago. He pushes it back, back down into a hole in his soul so deep that no one should be able to pull it out again.

//

The brown eyes of the other haunt his dreams, which is unusual since he normally does not dream. They’re always surrounded by white nothingness, but he can see the pain and the fear and the cry for release in them as clear as day. They stay in his mind as he guides soul after soul through the heavens, as he measures virtues and records the amounts present, as he floats among the clouds and sings as he’s required to do.

With the image of the other’s eyes comes a phantom pain in his chest, a voice in his head that sounds nothing like his own, one that he immediately shuts down and pushes to the bottom of his soul because it shouldn’t exist. If he ignores it long enough, it will cease to exist.

//

** _The brown eyes of the other do not go away. They stay, their image pressing against everything they do, and more and more they find themselves trying to remember any other details besides those brown eyes. Until they see the other again._ **

//

He appears in a blinding flash of white, like always, except this time he’s brushing fine ash off the sleeves of his suit instead of standing still, since he’d been summoned straight from the fires and one of the hellhounds had jumped too close to him.

He glances up as he’s clasping his hands behind his back and his breath catches in his throat as he meets the gaze of the same brown eyes that have been haunting him for weeks on end.

“You,” he manages to rumble. 

The other inclines his head. “You,” he replies lightly.

A shudder runs through his body at the sound of it, but he hears the faint echo of a whip and instantly locks all of his muscles, turning to face the man he is assigned to and breaking their eye contact in the process.

The little boy in the man’s arms whimpers at his gaze, trying to escape the chokehold and go towards the man in black.

“No,” hisses the man holding him. “No, you can’t take him from me!”

He cocks his head, a slow smile spreading across his face. “We’re not taking him,” he says, voice like silk. 

He feels the other’s eyes on him at his words but he keeps his focus on the cowering man in front of him. When the tug on his chain comes not even a second later, he’s ready for it.

“I’m taking you.”

The man’s arms drop, heavy as the chains materialize and swirl around his wrists, and the child clambers out of his hold and runs straight to the man in black.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, carefully petting the child’s hair. “You’re safe now.”

He pulls on the man’s chains. “You’re coming with me.” The man stumbles to his feet, unchecked rage in his eyes as he lunges for the child.

He immediately throws out a hand, and a wall of burning white fire roars to life, making the man stop in his tracks. “I don’t think so,” he growls, reaching the other hand into his pocket to call the portal. “You’re the one being punished, not him.”

The vacuum appears, sucking him and the chained man in, and before he vanishes into the harsh light he catches the gaze of the other once more.

_ Thank you _, his brown eyes seem to say, and then they’re gone.

//

He shields the child against the blinding light with his wings, and when the white finally fades from his field of vision he unfolds them and bends down. 

“Are you alright?” he asks quietly. The child slowly nods.

“You have a choice now, little one,” he adds, watching as the boy carefully glances around. His shoulders drop from his ears when he sees no trace of the man who once was his father. 

“What is it?” he asks.

“There are three options.” He smiles as he holds up a hand. “One, you can come with me and join your grandparents. Two, you can stay here and haunt the people who hurt you. And three, you can start over.”

The little boy looks thoughtful for a minute before he nods firmly. “I wanna see Halmeoni.”

He smiles. “Okay.” He stretches out his hand, wings spreading behind him. “Take my hand, little one.”

The boy places his hand in his and the night flares, pulling him and the boy deep into the stars.

His last thought as they travel farther through the realm is that he didn’t realize the other could use hellfire the way he had, to protect souls that were not destined for it.

//

His hands shake with the memory of controlling the fires. He’s not entirely sure how he managed to pull the power straight from the pits - he just knows that he’d felt _ angry _, angry that the man he’d torn down had hurt that child, angry enough to want to protect the child from any further harm. And so he’d just done it, throwing all of his anger at the man, the brown eyes of the other boring into him.

The pits don’t hold any release for him now. The whippings, the punishments, the slow, methodical torture of those terrible people, they don’t bring him satisfaction anymore, not as much as they used to. He keeps finding himself wondering about the people they hurt, the souls they either sent on or left behind, wondering if they’re all right, if they’re safe.

And more than anything else, he keeps wondering about the other, with his brown eyes and dark wings and clothes spun from the softest night. Why he seems to always be present, why he finds him so alluring, why his soul starts screaming when he hears his voice.

He needs to find answers.

And he thinks the other might have some.

//

He arrives first for a change, black night pouring out of nowhere and depositing him in front of the three women whose bodies have been mangled by the river. One of them groans when she catches sight of him, and the other two slowly turn their necks to pin him with their stares.

“Oh look,” one of them says, her voice flat, “the devil’s here for you.”

He blinks. It’s not true, of course, but the other still hasn’t shown up.

He opens his mouth to respond but his voice is cut off, choked out of him by a blackness that surges up from his soul and takes hold of him. He closes his mouth and crosses his arms.

“Shut up, bitch,” one of the others says, “obviously he’s here for you.”

He tries to speak but his mouth is held shut by the darkness.

“Are you fucking with me?” the first woman says, her features twisting with anger. “You’re the heartless one, of course it’s you. It was your fault, anyway.”

“It was not, you whore! It was yours!” The second woman stands, her hands closing into fists. “Everything was your fault!”

The first woman stands to match her, and the two start screaming over each other. The third, much thinner than either of them, curls into a ball on the ground, her shoulders shaking.

“I… I just wanted them to stop,” she whispers. “Just to stop.”

He finds that he can move again, so he goes to her. “It’s all right,” he murmurs. “You’re going to be fine.”

She blinks up at him, her face tearstained. “But… but won’t I be punished?” she says, hiccuping a little. “I… it was my fault.”

He shakes his head. “You will not be punished.”

She shrinks away from him. “But… aren’t you…”

He shakes his head again, his voice suddenly lost in the darkness for a second time.

His back burns with heat for the briefest moment. “He’s not,” comes the rough voice he hears in his mind every day. “I am.”

He straightens and looks over to see the other standing next to him, harsh white suit impeccable, dark hair pushed back, a scowl stretched across his handsome face.

The other two stop their shouting and glance between the two of them.

“I’m deserving,” the first woman shouts, running towards him. “Take me, she’s not worthy.”

“No, SHE’S not worthy! Take me!” the second woman yells as she starts toward him.

He watches as the other’s scowl transforms into a dark grin. “I’m taking both of you,” he says, and something in his heart curdles as he watches the women gasp. 

“Take good care of them,” he finds himself saying.

The other turns to him, quirking an eyebrow, and his hard brown eyes soften as their gazes meet once again. “As long as you take good care of her,” he answers, nodding to the still-cowering young woman.

“I will,” he says. The other has a strong jawline. He’d never noticed that before.

“Then I will as well.” 

He blinks, breaking their eye contact. “Thank you.”

The other smirks as he snaps his fingers, making chains appear and curl around the wrists and ankles of the two women - who are shockingly still arguing with each other.

“I should thank you,” he says quietly. “For helping her.”

He turns to look at the other in shock. “Why?”

“I know she’ll be safe,” he replies.

The young woman whimpers. “W-where are you taking them?” she manages to ask.

The other looks surprised that she’s addressing him. “Somewhere they can never hurt you, or anyone else, ever again.”

She nods, whispering, “Okay” before she curls into a tighter ball.

He turns to look at him again, his heart roaring with anger at the women who’d made this person into a timid shell. “Make sure they get what they deserve,” he says, his voice unexpectedly hard.

The other meets his gaze. He nods once, before glancing at the young woman once more. “And you for her.”

He nods in return.

The other offers him a brief smile, and it knocks the air out of his lungs. “Before,” he starts, “did you… feel then, too? With the… the child?”

The other’s question shocks him into answering. “Yes,” he says. “I did.”

“I… I wanted-” The other’s words get cut off as white light appears behind him. The briefest of grimaces flashes across his face. “I - need - to - ask - you - something,” he gets out. “Next… time.”

The white light flares brighter. His eyes flash red and he pulls the chains of the women, who see the change and start screaming again, this time in terror.

He watches as they vanish, the last words of the other ringing in his mind.

//

This time it’s not the eyes of the other that haunt his days and nights, it’s his whole face, his voice, the way everything about him had intensified when he’d asked him to give the women the punishment they deserved. He didn’t think the other could be anything other than kind.

Of course, when it’s not the face of the other in his head, it’s the way his soul screamed for release when their eyes had met, or the way he’d immediately wanted to make sure that the third woman would be okay, that she would be safe.

He needs answers.

Now more than ever.

So he takes it upon himself to start preliminary research, venturing into the hall of records whenever he can, trying to find anything that could lead him in the right direction.

He finds nothing, because the hall of records is only for the sins of the souls they punish, not for the sins of those who do the punishing. 

The only thing he comes to know, as his time stretches on into infinity, is that with every passing hour the itch in his chest grows, his soul starting to rage against its bindings more and more, aching for release.

//

He sends the young woman on to her next life and then for an indeterminable stretch of time is bound to the records, watching as soul after soul passes through the heavens, writing and writing and writing. The handsome face of the other keeps drifting through his mind, the way his teeth were gritted and he had forced the words out before they parted making his heart throb with something unknown. He remembers the way his own words had been cut off by the darkness and how he’d struggled against the will of it, wanting to break free.

He finds himself wanting answers. Wanting the knowledge of why he’s starting to feel so trapped, why he felt inestimably furious when he looked at those two women, why the other so needs to ask him something.

So he decides to look through the past, cases upon cases of orbs reflecting previous lives and eternal memories, hoping to find something that will push him in the right direction.

He finds nothing, as the records are only for the virtues of mortal souls and their existences, not for the ones who guide them through their entrance to the heavenly realms.

The only thing he comes to know, as his duties continue on for eternity, is that with every passing hour the phantom pain in his chest increases, his soul pushing against the blackness that represses it, starting to ache for release.

//

** _He dreams. In the dream, he sees the face of the other, so strikingly handsome he feels his heart jump. The other walks towards him, slowly emerging from the grey fog, and when they lock eyes he smiles._ **

** _His smile lights up his face, turning it from severe to beautiful._ **

** _He takes a step forward, and then another, feeling himself smile in return._ **

** _They meet in the middle, and the other reaches for his hand, letting their fingers intertwine. “It’s you,” he breathes. “It’s always been you.”_ **

** _“That’s what we promised,” he says, the words flowing out of him. “To always come home.”_ **

** _They both take another step forward, the other now so close to him he can feel every breath they take, their presence infinitely comforting._ **

** _The other leans forward and whispers a name, his name._ **

** _The dream collapses in on itself, the remnants of the last whispered word floating through the grey fog that has rushed back in to cover everything._ **

**Jaebeom. ** _ Jinyoung. _

//

The next time he gets called to the mortal world, he’s almost expectant. He stands in front of his latest assigned soul, watching as he sits up and coughs a little, before he goes through his standard spiel, but there is no flash of burning light at his back. No tingle in his soul, no heat across his neck, no solid presence at his side.

He resists the soft tug for as long as he can, watching, waiting, the second soul – the soul that isn’t his to guide – showing no signs of awareness, until finally there comes a stronger pull, almost (but not quite) painful in its intensity.

He can’t stay, not any longer, now that the man has decided to be reborn, so with a sigh that edges on bitterness he calls back the night, taking the man’s hand and showing him through.

The last thing he sees before he’s securely back in his realm is a swath of light.

//

He materializes out of the brightness and blinks once, his eyes adjusting to the strange shadows in the room. The soul he’s been assigned to looks around, and he blandly watches as the man slowly realizes that it is not the stars of heaven but the fires of hell that await him, not fully paying attention.

His mind is elsewhere, trying to recall the image of the second soul that had been in this exact space, but is missing from his awareness, and he has to refocus when the man tries to run. He slowly extends his hand, summoning the chains, but taking his time, almost like he’s waiting for something, and the realization flashes through his brain at the same time the manacles lock around the man’s wrists.

He’d missed him. The shadows were due to his disappearance, not the sunset. He’d already come and gone with the other soul.

Disappointment sweeps through him, and he scowls, letting his eyes flash red as he opens the portal, shoving the man in chains through.

//

He’s restless, finding it more and more difficult to float among the clouds and sing, to stand and record virtues, to drift among the realms and ease souls through their passage. His mind keeps replaying the last interaction he’d had with the man in white, keeps trying to remember the whispered word he’d heard at the end of a dream a while ago, keeps returning to the man in white’s face, his voice, the depths of his brown eyes.

Keeps returning to the way his voice had been choked off by the blackness, the way he’d been unable to speak, the roar he’d felt in his soul.

He keeps thinking about him, they way his face had changed, the softness and clear concern in his voice when he’d asked to make sure the soul of the young woman would be safe.

He didn’t think those of his type could feel anything other than violence.

And for that matter, he didn’t think he could feel rage or hatred, either, only kindness and concern and other pure emotions, and yet he had been so angry at those other souls. He’d wanted to see them punished, to inflict pain and suffering upon them, to make sure they got exactly what they deserved.

He pushes the thoughts away, pushes the emotions down, back into the black hole that exists in place of his soul, because up here, surrounded by purity and laughter, any sign of something other than what he was supposed to be would not end well.

An echo of pain flashes through his chest, only lasting for less than a second, but its intensity is enough to pull up faint memories he didn’t know he still had - a man kneeling on the floor, the familiar sound of a voice raised in song (was it him? He didn’t know) as the man’s chest began to glow, a single speck of light piercing the surrounding night, the ache of wings flaring from his back, a gentle touch on his shoulder, the feel of dried salt on his face, the overflowing gratefulness and happiness and joy in his heart along with a sudden pang of longing.

He swallows around the lump that had materialized in his throat and keeps moving.

//

He’s restless, finding it more and more difficult to stand and supervise tortures, to sit and record sins, to walk among the pits and throw a few more souls into the fires. His mind keeps replaying the last interaction he had with the man in black, keeps trying to remember the end of the dream he’d had a while back, keeps returning to his face, his voice, the depths of his brown eyes.

Keeps returning to the fire shooting from his hand, the shockingly strong rage he’d felt, the concern he’d had for the child. And then for the young woman.

He keeps thinking about him, the way his face had changed, the bitter fury in his voice when he’d asked for those souls to get what they deserved.

He didn’t think those of his type could feel anything other than benevolence. 

And for that matter, he didn’t think he could feel compassion or concern, either, only anger and hatred and other violent emotions, and yet he was worried about those other souls. He wanted to make sure they were safe, make sure they were protected, make sure their pain stopped, make sure they were at peace. 

He pushes the thoughts away, pushes the emotions down, down back into the depths of his chained soul, because down here, surrounded by fire and screaming, any sign of something other than what he was supposed to be would be… detrimental.

A phantom pain spears through his back, a pain that dredges up faint memories he didn’t know he still had - a man chained to the whipping post, the familiar sound of someone screaming (was it him? He wasn’t sure) as the man was slowly, excruciatingly stabbed with a flaming sword, a whip cracking across his shoulders, the feel of dried salt on his face, the boiling anger and rage and hatred in his heart along with a sudden pang of longing.

He swallows, throat suddenly parched, and keeps moving.

//

A blooming spot of shadows. It’s always the same, he thinks, stepping into the mortal world, that hole into the void that heralds his arrival.

Except the place he steps into is devoid of any signs of life, any hint of existence.

The house is empty, the room he’s in only containing a table and two chairs, and there’s no sign of his assigned soul.

He glances around; noting a room to his left, he walks toward it, and when he crosses the threshold his eyes catch on a ripple by the window, stopping him in his tracks.

The ripple shimmers for a brief second more and then expands, exploding into a patch of blinding light, a harsh white that begins to spread.

He blinks, keeping his gaze trained on the growing beam, some tiny part of his soul daring to hope, and when the other materializes out of the light, thin rays flaring almost like wings from his back, his heart explodes into motion - and he can’t help but murmur “Beautiful” to himself. 

The other meets his eyes, a tiny smile curling at the corners of his mouth as his ears tinge pink. “Hello to you, too,” he says, raising his eyebrows.

They maintain their eye contact until the other sighs and looks away. “I almost didn’t think I’d see you,” he adds. “I didn’t the last time I was here.”

“Neither did I,” he responds, his voice a little rough. “I think I left right before you appeared.”

“Right,” the other says, clasping his hands behind his back. “I noticed that too. I think I got called up after you left.”

“Interesting.” He follows the gaze of the other to the fluttering curtains, startling when he takes a step towards him.

“I…” He sounds confused. “Do you feel any souls in here?”

He glances back at the other and shakes his head. “I was hoping they’d show up wh- if you got here.” He coughs to cover his slip of the tongue. He’d almost sounded like he’d been _ hoping _ for the other to show up. Which he had been, but the other doesn’t need to know that.

“That’s… strange,” he says, his brows furrowing. “Have you ever had to wait for a soul before?”

He nods. “A couple of times. Usually when the decision is… complicated.”

“I see.” He crosses his arms, nodding toward the kitchen. “Did you check there?”

“Yes,” he says, following the other as he strides through the room. “The wait can be long, sometimes,” he adds as the other stops in front of the small table. “If you want to sit.” He gingerly pulls one of the chairs out and sits down, folding his wings against his back as to not scrape them.

The other runs a hand through his hair, an unknown emotion flickering across his face, before he exhales and pulls the other chair out to sit. 

Neither of them say anything for a while, still on edge, watching, waiting for one or both souls to stir. But as the minutes stretch on, seemingly endless, and the silence continues, he finds himself wanting to talk to the other. Their previous interactions, however brief, had left him wondering, almost… wanting more.

He swallows. He has no idea what to say.

Everything he can think of sounds too banal, too dull, too completely insipid, and for some reason he wants to sound intelligent, he wants to be eloquent, he wants - he wants to impress him.

He swallows again, thoughts racing, but his stupor is broken when the other shifts and leans onto the table.

“So,” he says, breaking the silence. His eyes snap to meet his.

“How are you?”

He raises his eyebrows, a smile threatening to break out. “Really?” he responds. “How am I?”

The other has the grace (and isn’t that a thought, one of his kind having _ grace _) to look embarrassed. “I couldn’t think of anything else,” he says, almost whining, and that makes him smile. “It’s a valid question, though.”

He crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. “I’m good,” he says, slightly cringing after, hoping that his dumb, unintentional wordplay would go unnoticed.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t, because the other smirks before saying “And I’m bad.”

“Don’t make fun of me,” he groans, hiding his face with his hands. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

The other chuckles, and oh, he’s got a nice laugh, a laugh that lodges itself in his chest and makes his heart skip several beats. “Alright then, so you’re doing okay.”

“As okay as I can be,” he answers honestly, slowly lowering his hands so he can look into the other’s eyes. “And you?”

“As okay as I can be,” he responds, giving him a tentative smile. 

They lapse back into silence for a few moments, silence that feels more comfortable, until he remembers how their last conversation had ended.

“You said you wanted to ask me something,” he murmurs, making the other glance up at him, startled. “The last time we spoke.”

“You remembered?”

He nods.

The other scrubs his face with his hands, leaning forward in his chair. “I… it’s complicated,” he starts. “But… uh, I’m not sure how to put this… I guess, did you start feeling… strange? After we dealt with the man and the child?”

He plants his elbows on the table, thinking back to that incident. “Well,” he says, resting his chin on his hands, “I was already feeling strange, but I think that kind of… exacerbated it.” He tilts his head, giving the other an inquisitive look. “Why? Is that when you started feeling strange?”

The other shakes his head. “It’s like you said,” he answers. “I was already feeling a bit off, but that incident…”

“With the fire.” He remembers how shocked he’d been when the other had summoned the hellfire out of nowhere, but also how stunning the sight had been, of his features twisted into a snarl, hand outstretched, flames crackling with deadly purpose.

“Right.” The other closes his eyes for a brief moment before looking back at him. “I still don’t know how that happened, by the way.”

“Maybe… it has something to do with you feeling off?” He glances down at the table, where their hands are resting on their respective sides, only about a foot apart. 

“Maybe.” 

He watches as the other drums his fingers on the tabletop, noticing the way his rings flash with the movement.

“But I’m glad to know I’m not the only one feeling… unusual,” he adds. “Well, not glad, necessarily, but-”

“It’s okay.” He offers the other a small smile. “I get what you mean.”

The silence this time is light, calm, almost too perfect, and he nervously breaks it after a moment. “I tried - I tried to find answers, for why I felt strange,” he says haltingly. “But I found nothing.”

“As did I,” the other says, meeting his gaze once again. “I looked through most of the records of damna-” He chokes, voice cutting off, hands clenching into white-knuckled fists. “The records,” he gets out. “I’m not allowed to say more.”

He feels anger spark in his chest, anger that the other’s freedom has been so forcibly taken from him, enough that he can’t even speak some words. A memory of his own flickers through his mind at the thought, a memory of the time they’d collected those three women, when he’d tried to talk to his assigned soul and the night had risen up his throat and swallowed his words, and his anger flares brighter.

“I did the same,” he offers instead, pushing the emotion down. “Our records were also unhelpful, they only covered vir-”

It’s his turn to choke, the darkness surging, coating his throat and his tongue and his teeth, making it impossible for him to keep going. He coughs, acknowledging that he won’t finish his sentence, and when his tongue returns to him he says, “Neither am I, it seems.”

The other’s eyes flash with some unnamed emotion, his knuckles still starkly white with tension. “Interesting,” he says with a frown, his tone belying the tightness in his body.

“But why?” he can’t help but ask as he stands from his chair and begins to pace. “This is something I’ve never experienced before, this - prevention, why is it happening now? What is so different about this that -”

He stops, whirling towards the door frame. “Did you feel that?”

The other nods, pushing himself out of his chair. “The souls are here,” he says, striding towards the room they were previously in.

He follows, glancing around as they walk through that room and enter a hallway. The disturbance in the air is stronger, the pull towards the last door on the right guiding them, and when the other gently opens the door he gasps at the sight within.

The woman’s eyes fly open at the sound, and she shrinks away from them, holding something tightly in her arms. “P-p-p-please,” she stutters, gaze darting between the two of them, “d-d-don’t h-hurt me.”

He takes a step forward, ignoring the way his shoes sound on the still-wet floor. “We’re not going to hurt you,” he says, crouching down. “No one will.”

She swallows and her eyes come up to search his face before they land on the body behind him. “I w-w-was so s-s-s-scared,” she mumbles, trembling, her arms wrapped around her bundle, which shifts when a teardrop falls from her face. It lets out a tiny wail and he realizes she’s holding a too-small baby.

“You have nothing to be afraid of anymore,” he says, holding his hand out. “Neither of you do.” He smiles at the baby.

She looks down at the baby, brushing her fingers over its head, but doesn’t say anything.

“He’s right,” the other says suddenly, the tone of his voice strange. “You’re safe with him.”

He looks up at the other, gratitude in his eyes, when the third soul stirs, looking around confusedly until his eyes land on the woman.

“_ You, _” he hisses, hands balling into fists.

The woman whimpers, turning away and holding her baby tighter, and he angles himself so that he’s between them, straightening to his full height.

“I wouldn’t,” the other says, his voice dangerously low.

The man sneers at him. “Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” he snarls. “That bitch ruined my life.”

“Looks like she ended it too,” he says, the words surprising the other and himself. He crosses his arms. “You deserved it.”

He sees the other shoot him a look before the man lets out an inhuman scream and runs for him.

He acts on instinct, the rage and hatred and viciousness burning through him, throwing out his hands and squeezing his eyes shut.

There’s a roar of heat and then the screaming stops.

He opens his eyes.

The other is staring at him in - it can’t be _ wonder _, but he has no other word that comes close to the look in his eyes.

He looks down at himself.

Threads of darkness drip from his palms, extending out through the wall of hellfire the other seems to have summoned, all the way to where the man is frozen. The darkness wraps around him, covering his mouth, tying his hands and feet together, binding him to the spot.

He glares. “You don’t get to touch them,” he says, clenching his fists, which makes the man squirm in discomfort. “You don’t get to hurt anyone ever again.”

The other lowers his hand, the flames shrinking into themselves before vanishing. Their eyes lock again, and he could swear the other almost seems… relieved. “You’re alright?” he asks quietly, fingers twisting together.

He nods, and spares a glance for the shaking woman behind him. 

The other notices. “Hey,” he murmurs, bending down to the woman’s height. “See, you’d be safe with him. Can you trust us?”

He watches as the woman slowly looks up at the other, meeting his gaze, and nods. The other straightens, tucking his hands into the pockets of his dress pants. He jerks his head at the man. “You get to come with me.”

His eyes glint red for a moment before he turns back to face him. “Can you release him?” he asks gently.

The softness in his voice is surprising. He peels his hands open, letting the tendrils wrapped around the man loosen and fall away, the chains of hell replacing them. “I-”

“It’s okay,” he says, still in that gentle voice. “Feels strange, doesn’t it.”

He looks at his palms. “I… I didn’t even think about it.”

The other winces slightly. “We can compare the next time we meet,” he says, sounding a little strained. “I’m being called back.”

“But-” He frowns, feeling an insistent tug on his end as well. “Alright. Until next time, then.”

The other smiles at him before he gives the man’s chains a yank and bright, harsh white light spears out from behind him. They hold each other’s gazes until the moment he vanishes.

Once he blinks the spots away, he holds out his hand for the woman. “You have earned peace,” he says. “Take my hand.”

She gingerly places her hand in his, and as he calls the eternal darkness back and feels it envelop them, the only thing he can think of is how he’d rather be holding the hand of the other.

//

The unusual feeling lingers. He takes to pacing among the fires, letting his feet wear a path into the dirt, his mind continually turning over every interaction he’s had with the other, but especially their most recent conversation, and the way the other had so easily controlled the eternal night, and the way he’d felt the entire time he’d been with him.

He’d felt light, freer than he thinks he’s ever felt, able to actually relax.

And his concern for the other’s well-being had manifested so fiercely, with the wall of flame he’d summoned to prevent that soul hurting him or the souls he was protecting (he spares a glance into the nearest pit, what’s left of his heart warming to see the man screaming as his skin is slowly peeled off), that he wonders how long that type of emotion has been buried within him.

As he continues to walk, monitoring the pits like he’s supposed to, he considers his emotions, attention turned inward. He’s calm, collected, steady - not angry or hateful or full of vicious rage, and it takes him a moment, but he wonders how much of that anger and hate, those emotions he’d come to see as a constant, how much of them had been forced upon him.

The thought of things being forced turns his attention to the way he’d choked when trying to talk, the way his voice had just vanished, leaving him unable to make a sound - at least, until he internally acknowledged that he would not speak of the secrets in the records. He thinks of the way there’s a pull on his soul whenever he’s needed somewhere, whenever he gets directed to do something, and he wonders at the forces behind it all.

Why, he thinks, are there certain things that are forbidden? Why are there limits on what he is allowed to say?

And perhaps, the most important question of all, why does he feel like his choices are made for him, like he has no control over what he does, who he sees, what he says? Why does he have no freedom?

In a pit nearby, someone screams, drawing him from his thoughts.

He resumes pacing.

The image that’s left in his mind is that of the other, darkness pouring from his palms, face hard as he stared down the attacking soul.

//

The unusual feeling lingers. He takes to pacing among the stars, letting his feet wear a path into the clouds, his minds continually turning over every interaction he’s had with the other, but especially their most recent conversation, and the way he’d so instinctively summoned the hellfire, and the way he’d felt the entire time they’d been together.

He’d felt light, freer than he thinks he’s ever felt, able to actually relax.

And his anger at that soul for thinking he could attack them had manifested so fiercely, with the strands of darkness he’d summoned to punish him for hurting others in the past and thinking he could continue to do so (he glances up at a glimmering star, which gives him a glimpse of the woman laughing in a field as her child runs in circles around her), that he wonders how long that type of emotion has been buried within him.

As he continues to walk, monitoring the stars like he’s supposed to, he considers his emotions, attention turned inward. He’s erratic, frustrated, unstable - not kind or calm or composed, and it takes him a moment, but he wonders how much of that kindness and composure, those traits he’d come to see as a constant, how much of them had been forced upon him.

The thought of things being forced turns his attention to the way he’d choked when trying to talk, the way the darkness had crawled up his throat and swallowed his words, leaving him unable to speak - at least, until he internally acknowledged that he would not speak of the secrets in the records. He thinks of the way there’s a pull on his soul whenever he’s needed somewhere, whenever he gets directed to do something, and he wonders at the forces behind it all.

Why, he thinks, are there certain things that are forbidden? Why are there limits on what he is allowed to say?

And perhaps, the most important question of all, why does he feel like his choices are made for him, like he has no control over what he does, who he sees, what he says? Why does he have no freedom?

In a star nearby, someone laughs joyfully, drawing him from his thoughts.

He resumes pacing.

The image that’s left in his mind is of the other, white fire pouring from his palms, face soft as he reassured the cowering soul.

//

** _He’s dreaming._ **

** _Odd, since he doesn’t dream._ **

** _Or at least he didn’t, not until he met the other._ **

** _He blinks, looking around, but all he can see is the same grey fog as the last time he dreamed._ **

** _He blinks again, and now he sees a shadow in the fog, walking towards him. He takes a step forward, then another, and another, until he’s practically running through the mist._ **

** _They crash into each other, both panting with exertion._ **

** _“You’re here,” he says, taking the other’s hand in his._ **

** _“I am,” he responds, smiling._ **

** _His heart skips a beat at the sight. “I never thought I’d find you,” he says, his voice husky as he inches closer to him._ **

** _“Me either,” the other says, intertwining their fingers. “Not having you by my side…” He pauses, eyes scanning his face. “It was like I couldn’t breathe without you.”_ **

** _“Like the air was gone from my lungs,” he whispers. “I missed you.” _ **

** _He wraps his arms around him, inhaling deeply. “God, I missed you.”_ **

** _“I’m here now,” the other responds, burying his face into the crook of his neck. “I’m here.”_ **

** _He clutches him tighter. “I won’t ever let you go.”_ **

** _The dream dissolves._ **

_ He looks around the room. It’s impeccably clean - not a speck of dust or a stray hair to be seen. An ornate sketch on the table catches his eye, so he meanders over to look at it. _

_ It’s solid gold, engraved with the name of the king and a series of dates. His lip curls the longer he stares. _

_ Just like his uncle to have something like this. _

_ The door bangs open, and his uncle storms in. “What do you mean, giving up your inheritance?” he booms. _

_ “Exactly what I said.” He raises an eyebrow as he turns. “I don’t want this anymore. I don’t want the kingdom, I don’t want the money, I don’t want the title or the family name.” He pauses. “I don’t need it.” _

_ “Don’t _ need _ -” His uncle puffs up, like one of those fishes they saw in the gardens last week. He smiles at the memory. _

_ “Don’t you laugh at me, boy!” His uncle’s face is slowly turning red. “I gave you everything after my sister died! I raised you, I taught you, I welcomed you into this family when others everywhere were threatening us! And what do you do in return?” He spits at the ground. “Throw my generosity into the dirt. Throw away your noble line, your education, your prestige - and for what?” _

_ “For whom,” he corrects, sliding his hands together in his sleeves. “And he’s all I need. I want to make him happy.” _

_ HIs uncle is now the color of a tomato. “For - for that GUARD?” he booms. _

_ “Uncle, I love him,” he says. “And I want him to be happy. His happiness makes me happy, and I will give up everything I own in this world to see him smile.” He turns to leave. “And so I have.” _

**He looks around the room. It’s dark and untidy - the armor in the corner looks unwashed, other clothes and garments thrown haphazardly across the floor. A piece of parchment on the corner of the messy desk catches his eye, so he carefully shifts in order to read it.**

**It’s a list of targets, all members of the nobility, with hastily-scrawled plans beneath each section. His lip curls the longer he stares.**

**Just like the Viper to have something like this.**

**The door slides open and she slips inside. “What an unexpected surprise,” she drawls, circling him. “I didn’t think you’d come.”**

**“I said I would.” He swallows stiffly as she continues to walk around him. “I want this job. I want the kingdom, I want the money, I want the power and control.” He pauses. “I need it.”**

**She chuckles at that, finally sliding behind her desk. “You need it. Interesting, coming from the one man who flatly refused my offers every time previously. Something about a moral code.” She smiles, lips stretching slowly across her face, and he sees why she’s called the Viper. “I wonder what changed your mind.”**

**“Who,” he corrects, crossing his arms. “And I need him, too. I want to make him happy, and keep him safe.”**

**“I see.” She smirks. “The prince, hm?”**

**“I love him,” he hisses. “And I need him to be safe and happy. His well-being is my utmost concern, and I will do anything, even work for you, to keep him content and to see him smile.” He turns, ignoring the glint of her eyes. “And so I have.”**

//

His eyes fly open and he sits up, breathing hard. His mind is reeling with images from the dream, the resolve he’d felt, the colors of the room he’d been in, and he goes to rub his eyes when he freezes.

Something is very, very wrong.

He lifts his arm closer to his face.

His sleeve, formerly the same color as the night, is grey. And the longer he stares at it, the more he can see the darkness fading.

//

His eyes fly open and he sits up, breathing hard. His mind is reeling with images from the dream, the resolve he’d felt, the colors of the room he’s been in, and he goes to run his hands through his hair when he freezes.

Something is extremely wrong.

He lifts his arm closer to his face.

His sleeve, formerly the same harsh white as the fires around him, is grey. And the longer he stares at it, the more he can see the light fading.

//

The darkness opens, letting him step into the mortal world once more, and he’s immediately confronted with the brightness that only one being can bring. 

The other materializes out of the light and stops in his tracks when their eyes meet. 

“Your clothes,” they say in unison, which shocks him even more than the fact that the other’s clothes are grey, too.

“When did it happen?” he asks, scanning the other, taking in his lean frame and nicely shaped shoulders.

“After the last time,” the other answers, looking him up and down. “I had this dream -”

“You had a dream too?” he says, surprised, but then he remembers how the dream had started and looks away, heat rising to his face.

The other hums in assent. “When I woke up, my clothes were like this.”

“Mine as well.” He considers the situation for a moment. “Do you… do you think it has something to do with the… with what happened the last time?”

The other shrugs. “I’m not sure. Probably.”

They start walking, and he falls into step with the other, their strides even. “So…” he starts, feeling uncharacteristically nervous. “We can both control our divine elements.”

“I wouldn’t say mine was divine,” the other says, laughing a little. “But yes.” He glances at him. “What did you feel, when you summoned the darkness?”

“I…” He thinks for a second. “I was angry. Furious, even. And just… so outraged that a man like him existed, enough that I wanted to wipe him from the earth.” He looks over, noting the other’s strong jawline. “What about you, when you summoned the hellfire?”

The other exhales, a tiny smile curling at the corners of his lips. “Almost the exact opposite of you,” he says. “I was so worried, so concerned about the safety of the child, of y-” He breaks off suddenly, and he whirls to face him, worried, but he sees no signs of strain. Just an embarrassed look.

The other waves off his concern, his ears slightly pink. “I had this urge to protect him, so I did,” he continues. “To make sure that he - and you, since you were with him - stayed safe, so that he could find peace.”

A thought strikes him. “Our opposite,” he murmurs. “I feel what you’re supposed to feel, and you feel what I’m supposed to.”

The other looks at him in confusion. “Do you mean…”

“Yes, I think so,” he says, getting excited by the prospect that he might be on to something. “You’ve been experiencing the emotions that I’m meant to, and I’m experiencing the ones meant for you. And -” Another thought hits him. “That could explain the clothes, too!” he exclaims. “After we talk, after we summon the divine, something has to change, and black and white make -”

The darkness surges, cutting his words off, and he’s so fed up with the restraints, the rules, fed up with feeling confused and having no answers, wanting to embrace every aspect of himself, not just the ones deemed acceptable, that he screams.

HIs soul blazes white-hot, burning through the strings of darkness that bind it, and he sees a flash of white light before he collapses.

//

The other screams, and something breaks inside him at the pain and the longing and the frustration he can hear in his voice.

He feels the same way, and he’s so fed up with the chains on his soul, holding him back, holding him in anger, that he screams as well.

His soul roars, a void that surges within him, swallowing the gleaming chains that bind it, and everything goes dark for a second before he’s straightening, eyes clear, mind blazing with his newfound freedom. 

He looks over at the other and sees his entire body stiffen and then go limp, and it’s instinctive, the dive to catch him before he hits the ground.

His arms wrap around the other’s body, keeping him secure, and a spark jumps between the skin of his fingers and the other’s arm - the last thing he sees before everything goes black.

//

**It’s raining.**

**He can feel the drops on his neck, his hair, his exposed forearms, but he doesn’t care.**

**All of his focus is pinned on the man slumped in his arms, a large spot of red continuing to dye the silk of his now-sodden robes.**

**“Please,” he whispers, voice rough and cracking with lack of use.**

**“Please, Nyoungie, wake up.”**

**He bows his head, letting the tears drip from his chin, splashing onto the ground, his armor, his lover’s face.**

**“This is all my fault,” he whispers. “I never should have done it, I never should have said yes, but you were so happy, Nyoungie.” He takes a shuddering breath. “And that’s all I wanted, for you to be happy. Even if-” His voice breaks, and he closes his eyes for a moment, trying to find some hidden reserve of strength. “Even if it broke me to do it.”**

**Another round of tears course down his cheeks, mingling with the rainwater.**

**“Please,” he whispers again, “please, I just need you to be alright.”**

**A soft chuckle. One he would know anywhere.**

**“...Fool,” comes a voice, the voice he could pick out of a crowd of thousands, and he looks down to see his lover struggling to open his eyes. “You… always… were… a fool… Jaebeom-ah.”**

**He stares down at him, hope beginning to bloom in his chest. “Jinyoungie?”**

**A hand clutches his.**

**“I’m here.”**

_ He looks up into the eyes of his lover, knowing that this place, where he is right now - wrapped in his arms - is the safest place he could ever be. “How could you say it was your fault,” he mumbles, slowly lifting his hand to caress his cheek. “The fault lies with me.” _

_ He shakes his head. “No, it could never-” _

_ “Jaebeom, just listen.” He shifts, and the movement sends pain flaring through his side. “I… I did something as well, something that was the root of all this trouble.” He winces as his side pulses, the pain beginning to spread. “I never should have done it, but seeing you smile… it was worth it, Jaebeommie.” He closes his eyes as his side gives another stab of pain. “And seeing you smile, seeing you… seeing you be happy, that’s all I wanted.” _

_ “Stop quoting me,” his lover says, tone strained, but when he carefully opens his eyes to look at him he offers a quick smile. _

_ The effort to bring humor into this conversation is commendable. “I wanted you to be happy,” he repeats, running his thumb across the remaining stubble on his cheek. “Even if I had to die to do it.” _

_ “Don’t say that, Jinyoungie,” he says, right as his side sends another pulse of pain through him, this one the strongest yet. “You’re staying alive, you’re staying with me.” _

_ “I love you,” he says, letting his hand fall. _

_ “No, no, no, Jinyoung, no, you can’t.” Fresh tears gather in his eyes. “Stay with me. I can’t live without you. I can’t - I won’t - let you go.” _

_ His side is screaming. There’s a faint fuzziness creeping up his legs, expanding through his stomach, stretching down his arms. _

_ “Jaebeom-ah…” He smiles, letting his eyes drift closed once more. “I’ll always come home to you.” _

//

His eyes flutter open.

There’s blue sky above him, the occasional speck of white signifying a cloud. The sun is warm on his face. Where is he? He’s not sure, not until he turns his head and sees a pair of brown eyes open directly in front of him.

He gasps, and the other gasps too, pulling him up to a sitting position.

He scans the other’s face. It’s the same face he’s seen for the past however-many-eons it was, the same dark hair, the same strong jawline, the same twin moles above his left eye.

Except he’s not wearing white.

He’s in grey, a perfect grey, the grey that falls exactly between black and white.

//

He scans the other’s face, noting that he’s doing the same to him.

He can’t believe it. It’s the same face he’s seen for the past however-many-eons it was, the same dark hair, the same pouty lips, the same flared ears.

Except he’s not in black.

He’s in grey, a perfect grey, the grey that falls exactly between black and white.

And his face is exactly the same as the face of the man he was holding in that vision.

He exhales shakily. “Jinyoung?” he breathes.

The other’s eyes widen. “Jaebeom?” he asks in return, his voice just as soft.

He nods, the name ringing through him, some innate sense telling him that yes, that is his name, just like that innate sense is telling him that he needs to hold on to the man in front of him.

The other - Jinyoung - smiles, tears brimming in his eyes.

“I told you I’d come home,” he whispers.

He smiles, feeling his own eyes well up.

“And here you are,” he responds, heart overflowing with love and freedom and joy. “My missing piece.”

Jinyoung huffs a laugh, one tear escaping down his cheek. “I knew it,” he says, reaching up to touch his cheek. “I knew there was something missing.”

//

He watches as the other - Jaebeom - lays his hand on top of where he’d placed his own. “Neither of us were living,” he says. “Not really.”

He nods. “Living means choices. The ability to decide our own fate.”

Jaebeom smiles - something infinitely tender, and the way his face softens when he does it makes his heart start beating double time. “And I told you,” he says, intertwining their fingers, “I can’t live without you. And I will never let you go.”

**Author's Note:**

> title from find you - jjp  
i had a BLAST writing this even though it is so much darker and intense than i originally thought it would be (and way way darker than anything i've ever written before!) so i hope you enjoyed it!  
did anyone guess who was who before the ending??? 👀  
lots of love to the mods, you guys are the Actual best~  
♥
> 
> [tumblr](https://yixingminseokjongdae.tumblr.com) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/allforexot9) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/moon_goddess)


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